


Don't Say A Word

by BloodyIria



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, Fanfic Italia P0rn Fest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:50:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9171829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyIria/pseuds/BloodyIria
Summary: Sakakura handled the whole thing with great ability.As soon as Munakata got wounded, Juzo promptly took off his belt, tying it around his thigh, slightly above the shot.Kyosuke stared at him, and his blue eyes brightened in his typical proud glimpse, before his face turned into a mask of pain, the woozy gaze lost in dizziness.





	

**Don’t Say A Word**

_"We had it all so sweet_  
_Made for me, you, indeed..._  
_Big secret, small the lie  
_ _Don't cry for me, oh, argentite"._

(Don't Say A Word, Sonata Arctica)

It wasn’t the first time they had faced that kind of mission together, but they never truly got in trouble. However, in that moment, as Kyosuke was injured, all their communication systems, and the smart phones in the first place, seemed like useless junk.  
Juzo threw his bluetooth headset away, since he could hear only a buzzing silence on the other side, and he looked at Munakata.  
At the beginning, Sakakura was horrified at the thought of digging a bullet out of his friend’s thigh, spoiling that flesh like a sadist butcher. He looked on passively, while Munakata handed him a knife, figuring out his intentions when Kyosuke led the blade on the bare and burned skin – there was a nauseous sickly–sweet stench fading in the disgusting blood essence.

Sakakura handled the whole thing with great ability.  
As soon as Munakata got wounded, Juzo promptly took off his belt, tying it around his thigh, slightly above the shot.  
Kyosuke stared at him, and his blue eyes brightened in his typical proud glimpse, before his face turned into a mask of pain, the woozy gaze lost in dizziness.  
Juzo was ashamed. Looking at the tension on Munakata's expression, listening to his slow breath, he just glanced a vicious ardor, a guilty grace that wrapped his heart in a rotten appetite _– the seed of a viral despair meant to be eradicated_.

They took shelter in an old pub where, unexpectedly, few bottles of whiskey seemed still intact. As a consequence, finding a good disinfectant and analgesic was the least hard thing to do.  
Juzo tore off two strips of his shirt under Kyosuke's aching stare; then, he slowly took off the other's trousers.  
_Well, when he did the same in his dreams, they weren't covered in blood._  
Sakakura saw the pain breaking Kyosuke's eyes voraciously, and he looked down at the wound as the thigh muscle flexed. Given his anatomical knowledge, Juzo knew there were no severed arteries, and he mentally thanked whoever had protected Kyosuke from an almost certain death.  
_It hadn't been him, of course._  
_He just kept on failing._  
Juzo knotted one of the improvised gauzes, having it soaked in some whiskey, and then he handed it to Kyosuke.  
"Bite." Sakakura paused. "Hard." His voice sounded rather commanding.  
So, Munakata dared to raise a laugh, and it was cracked by the shortness of breath, but first he preferred to take a couple of deep sips directly from the bottle of liquor. After a while, he gave it back to Juzo, with a disgusted grimace.  
"It… always seems… so  _cool_ in movies." Before he put the cloth in his mouth, closing his eyes, Kyosuke tried to find the funny side of their situation, and despite everything Juzo laughed. As his hands kept on shaking, he poured the alcohol over the black and bleeding hole which gashed Kyosuke's porcelain skin; and Sakakura thought it was amusing – _frustrating_ – the way Munakata allowed him to see that hidden, cheerful side of his again.

Juzo pulled the bullet out of his flesh on the flat end of the blade, while Kyosuke tensed under him, chewing the cloth knot in order to hide the screams. With dirty clothes soaked in cold sweat, Munakata clenched his fists, arching the back. Even when he let himself rest on the worn out sofa where Juzo had placed him, his breath was still slow. So, as it was a heartfelt dream, he perceived his friend's hands gently bandaging the wound _._  
Then, through the blurry vision caused by blood loss and alcohol, Munakata saw Juzo dressing him again. He also felt the cozy warmth of the other's coat wrapping him and the former boxer's tender hold around the waist, when he laid down with him.  
"Sakakura..."  
_"Don't say a word."_

Hours of mixed breaths passed, and the dangers of the night lurked over their shelter.  
Kyosuke shivered in his embrace, and Juzo held him even more tightly. The way their bodies touched was so intimate that Sakakura couldn't help, but found himself shamefully hard against Kyosuke's bottom.  
_His soul was rotting, and its putrid stink infected each air shred._  
Juzo tried to distance himself: resting near Munakata hadn't been a wise idea; but the other's cold hand held him, closing around his wrist.  
The athlete froze and fear chewed his heart, when the young man turned around in his arms, meeting his eyes.  
“Please, stay. It’s ok.”

Instead, Sakakura knew it wasn’t fair.  
Kyosuke had more alcohol than blood in his body, and if both of them were lucky enough, he wouldn’t have remembered anything. And yet, Juzo felt as he was going to abuse him, his trust, tearing it apart before his drunk eyes. But the former boxer longed for him. He had dreamt many times of getting lost in that fatal desire, and at that point he didn’t care if Munakata was under the bittersweet spell of whiskey.

Juzo placed his coat under Kyosuke, not to let him touch the dirty leather of that miserable sofa, and Munakata hid his face in the black fur of the hood, allowing the boxer to undress him.  
With that kind of wound, Sakakura had to be careful, so he folded his trousers under Munakata’s thigh, to keep it raised with no effort, and then Juzo turned his beloved on his side, lifting his other leg up.  
_He had indeed heard how martial arts could gift a body with flexibility.  
_ Sakakura kept it over his head, holding the partner by his knee and he run on the flesh with his tongue – a path of kisses from the ankle to the inner thigh, across the groin.

Kyosuke got salty skin.  
Both of them were covered in dirt, dust and blood and there was no trace of the sweet and cherished atmosphere Juzo had always imagined – _white lilies in the room, and the fragrant flavour of cinnamon._  
But the athlete didn’t stop and he kept on losing himself in the frantic study of Munakata’s body, reaching his buttocks. The boxer could hear his _friend_ ’s breath, the moans and the gasps hidden in the fur. There was a shiver, and then Kyosuke’s beautifully designed muscles flexed, when Sakakura’s tongue crossed the path between the end of the scrotum and his opening, jealously licking and sucking and kissing the skin.  
_Mine.  
_ Juzo knew there was no coming back, hopelessly doomed in that selfish mistake, _a black lust_. He had craved Kyosuke for years, shedding bitter tears, howling obscene insults against the sky, since he had always considered his life nothing but a fault, just a scrap of the universe – and the way the tentacles of his hunger tied Kyosuke was just another proof to his soul's damnation.

Sakakura was aware he would have hurt Kyosuke. He had no lube, and he meanly hoped that the dizziness of alcohol would have helped Munakata bearing the pain.  
He was even out of condoms, and Sakakura mentally cursed his quickies with Gozu, that sick need of self destruction in the arms of a partner in crime.  
“Please… go ahead.”  
Kyosuke was staring at him, as he gently pulled Sakakura’s hair with trembling fingers, holding the other between his legs. And so, Juzo just bitterly smiled, kissing the side of Munakata’s penis.  
“As you wish.”

Kyosuke was so damned tight.  
Juzo had penetrated him with unconscious, harsh needs and he stopped at the sound of his scream, waiting in fear. It was slow, _too damn slow_ , as he felt each muscle of the other’s body flexing, and his weak breaths breaking the buzzing silence.

Sakakura started thrusting in Kyosuke after a while, trying to take care of the man he had longed for. Holding his hand, the former boxer stared at him, _his demon and his saviour_ , in those hazy eyes, pupils dilated by alcohol and sex, while Munakata’s crimson lips moved in gasping whispers.  
_More, more, more._  
Juzo would have cried right there, on his chest, and when the partner kept him in his arms, looking for a kiss, Sakakura couldn’t take it anymore  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Juzo repeated again and again, through their moans, while Kyosuke came in his hands and he pulled out, splattering on the other’s stomach.  
The athlete sobbed silently, because he knew that he had exposed Kyosuke to a mean violence and his heart, his black and rotting heart stopped, as Munakata pronounced a desperate statement with a weak and forlorn smile.  
“The world is burning, Sakakura… it’s all my fault.”  
_Don’t say a word._

When the rescue team found them, Sakakura got compliments for the way he handled Munakata’s injury. In spite of everything, however, he met his friend again only after several days.  
Ashen face, ratty hair, Kyosuke marched into the 6th Division office. He looked as if he had been sleepless for nights, bloodshot eyes and a tired expression.  
He greeted Juzo with a smile, hanged onto a crutch to avoid any stress on the injured leg.  
"I feel l should apologise." Munakata said, and he sat down on the chair right in front of Juzo’s desk.  
"I don’t really remember much about that night, but I’m pretty afraid I’ve said or done something remarkably stupid due to the whiskey.” Kyosuke laughed softly, with a nervous click of the tongue, and Sakakura’s hands shivered.  
The former boxer hadn’t slept as well, fighting cruel nightmares. In those morbid illusions, he kept on screaming against Kyosuke, grabbing the young man by the neck, begging him with pressing need.  
_“Tell me that you love me, whore!”_  
And when he was awake, looking at his own reflection in the mirror, he could barely recognize the stare of that mad man in love.  
"I’ve never seen anyone holding his liquor like you, Munakata.” Juzo lied with a low and raspy laugh, as he was trying to annihilate the tears.  
"You slept the whole time. A bit restlessly, sure, but nothing more.”  
Kyosuke lowered his eyes.  
"I guess I just dreamt it all, then.”  
He stood up, and Juzo was immediately by his side, helping him.  
_Coward._  
"Thank you, and sorry to have ripped you away from your work.”

In the dead of night, Juzo often shouted in frustration. As he worked the punching bag in his room, he tried to hate, to blame all on Munakata: every teardrop, those monstrous and carnivorous feelings – _so unbearably sweet his heart was always about to burst._  
Then, dropping on his knees, Juzo sobbed, since the irrational wrath that kept on slashing his chest melted with all his twisted tricks.  
_“I love you, I love you, I love you.”_  
Juzo wasn’t even brave enough to raise his voice: he whispered those words, sharing a secret too wicked to hold with the silence; and if only he had paid attention, Sakakura would have heard Kyosuke’s voice through the thin walls, as it bursted in the same foolish tears.

Stabbing to death the shield of their feelings, Juzo and Kyosuke walked side by side along the last path of their existence. In a cruel twist of fate, they both mutually hid the fact that they had something, _somebody_ to love even more than their life right there, on the other face of a barrier made of scars and lies.

_"Don’t say a word.”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction was originally written for the 10th P0rn Fest, an event that starts every year on Christmas Eve, created by one of the biggest Italian fanfiction community, FanFiction Italia!  
> Hope you've enjoyed it!


End file.
